


I Haven’t Seen You in Days (and my, how that feeling has changed)

by loubuttons



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Gen, Protective Peter Parker, Spells & Enchantments, Tony Stark Acting as Peter Parker's Parental Figure, Tony Stark-centric
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-24
Updated: 2019-07-24
Packaged: 2020-07-12 12:18:08
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,191
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19946047
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/loubuttons/pseuds/loubuttons
Summary: “I’m here all the time, Peter. You just can’t see me. And neither can they, apparently,”





	I Haven’t Seen You in Days (and my, how that feeling has changed)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [madasthesea](https://archiveofourown.org/users/madasthesea/gifts).



> Based off this prompt: “I wish you'd write a fic where Tony gets hit with a spell that turns him invisible and he follows Peter around for a day (which is a dumb prompt but whatever you're great you can make it awesome)”
> 
> Title is from A Father’s First Spring by the Avett Brothers. 
> 
> Hope you enjoy!

It’s Peter that he anchors to first. Before latching onto him, Tony was caught in a whirlwind of flashing screams and deafening lights. The relief that Peter brings is sweet on his tongue. For a moment, he stands completely still, waiting for the assault to return. When it doesn’t, he aims to focus his eyes on the blurry shape that brushed against him. Peter pauses. Tony wonders if their point of contact is sparking like it is for him. 

Head still swimming, he says, “Peter. Pete, can you hear me?” 

He doesn’t answer. But his eyes catch every corner of the room, searching for the source of sensation. When his eyes pass through Tony’s head, his stomach twists. 

“Kid,” He groans. This newfound clarity is nearly more agonizing than the fog, “Kid, tell me you felt that,” 

Of course Peter can’t answer. Still tense, he leaves the room. For a moment, Tony panics—his legs won’t follow. The storm returns, growing more fierce with every step Peter takes away from him. 

Pressing a palm into his eye, doubled over, he bites, “You gotta wait for me,” 

Peter must hear him this time. He must. He wheels around, eyes huge, “Tony? Mr. Stark?” 

“Hallelujah. You can hear me now?” He squints at Peter through the pain, still convinced he can’t move. When he doesn’t say anything more, Tony sighs, “Really? Of course not. Well, you heard something. Just...gah, just wait for me for a minute, Kid,” 

Gingerly he uncoils, praying that Peter will get the message and stay out long enough for him to figure out walking. He glances at his legs, which appear fine. But he can’t force himself forward. Inhaling, he closes his eyes, searching for the memory of what he was before this exact moment. All he hears is himself screaming. But there’s also the sensation of drifting, being drawn in by a wave before being struck backward. Focusing on that, he lets his head fall back. The wave sucks back, pulling him forward. When he opens his eyes, he’s floated toward Peter as if tethered to him. 

“Well, that works I guess,” He can’t find the energy to shrug, “Lead the way, Kid. I’ll try to keep up,” 

He knows Peter doesn’t hear him, so he waits as patiently as he can for him to unfreeze. It takes a few minutes, which Tony uses to steady his stuttering heart. It’s climbed its way into his mouth and abandoned his lungs. They struggle with being left behind. 

When Peter starts walking, it’s slower this time. Tony appreciates his efforts, and does his best to keep pace. But since he’s only had about five minutes experience ‘floating’, he falls behind frequently. The pain is blindsiding. Sometimes Peter hears his cries, others he can’t. Each time he does, he looks marginally closer to full-blown panic. 

“I’m okay, Kid,” Tony gasps, doubled over again, “You just have to wait on your old man,” 

Peter cuts him off, obviously still deaf to Tony’s voice, “I-I...I’m not sure what’s going on, Mr. Stark. But if that’s really you then I’m...I’m glad you’re okay,” 

Tony’s surprised to see tears in Peter’s bright eyes. For his sake, he doesn’t voice his suspicions that he  _ isn’t _ alright, “Yeah, I’m here. I don’t know...how much of me is here but....” 

Peter’s destination seems to be miles off. They alternate between a semi-hurried pace and resting every few minutes. It gets easier as it goes on. Tony’s vision stops blacking out, and the chaos in his ears fades. They stop again, but this time it’s Peter who plants his feet. 

He’s so focus on Peter that he doesn’t notice his audience until he says, “Ok, I know I sound crazy,” He holds out his hand, apparently aiming for a dramatic pause, “But I found him,” 

When Tony looks up to ask Peter what he means, he’s greeted by a man in a cape. Rhodey stands across the worktable. Whatever discussion they were in has halted. 

The stranger steps forward, “Found who?” 

“Who is this and why is he in my lab?” Tony asks. Peter doesn’t answer. 

His eyes are brimming with hope as he exhales, “ _ Tony _ ,” 

Rhodey straightens, “What do you mean? Where is he?” 

“I’m right here,” Tony insists. The buzzing in his ears has multiplied in his confusion. He turns to Peter, “Kid, what’s going on?” 

Glancing to his left, like he heard Tony’s question, Peter says, “Hold on, let me explain. He’s—he’s not here. Not all the time. But I can see him,” 

After a beat, Rhodey says, “ _ What _ ,” 

The man in the cape, however, narrows his eyes, “Where is he right now?” 

“To my left. Sometimes,” 

“Sometimes?” 

“I’m here all the time, Peter. You just can’t see me. And neither can they, apparently,” 

They continue to speak around him, “I heard his voice, like, just a couple seconds ago. And earlier I swear I felt someone brush up against me. That’s when I ran down here,” 

Rhodey squints, “You’re saying that Tony is...invisible?”

Sighing, Peter says, “I know I sound crazy. But he’s been missing for three days—I wouldn’t make this up,” 

Tony starts, “Three days?”

“No one thinks that,” The stranger answers Peter, “Hold on, let me try something,” 

He staggers back, as if he’s been punched in the stomach. He seems to fall in slow motion. Peter rushes forward, abandoning Tony. 

He doubles over from the pain, clutching his head. It’s been pierced by nails. Sharp spikes grate against the inside of his ears. 

“Peter,” He gasps, incapable of screaming. 

In the same moment, the stranger inhales. He uses Peter’s arm to stand upright. 

“Dude, what did you just do?” 

Peter voice brings momentary relief. When it’s gone, the pain returns. 

“Astral projection,” He answers, still slightly dazed, “I’d go back to where you were standing before,” 

“Why?” 

“Because Stark’s atoms are being shredded each moment you spend away from him,” 

Face white, Peter drops the stranger on the floor in his haste to return. Tony keeps his eyes on him; every step he takes in his direction eases the pain. When they’re side by side again, he basks in the warmth of Peter’s presence. 

“Am I in the right spot?” Peter demands, glancing frantically around himself. 

Gently, Tony grasps his arm, “Yes,” 

Peter jumps, “Holy crap,” His hand flies to cover Tony’s on his arm. 

“You can feel that? You can see me?” 

His wide eyes slide past Tony again. But his grip on his hand never wavers.

“Peter?” Rhodey prods, “What's going on? Where is Tony?”

The stranger dusts perceived dirt off his front, “He’s standing next to Peter. I’m assuming he said something?” 

“I don’t see anything,” Rhodey shakes his head, obviously frustrated. 

Peter nods, “Yeah, he—he was right here. And he grabbed my arm,” 

“I’m still grabbing your arm,” Tony insists. He tightens his grip, wills Peter to feel his hands. But he doesn’t react, and neither does anyone else. 

Agitated, Rhodey turns to the stranger, “What is going on? Why is Tony invisible?” 

“He’s not,” He answers, with an air of superior understanding. Tony wonders how long Rhodey will let him get away with that, “But I think I know what’s going on. He’s been vanished,” 

Still clinging to Peter, Tony says, “That’s not an explanation,” 

Peter jumps, and then nods, “Yeah that doesn’t tell us anything,” 

“I’m assuming you’re agreeing with something Tony said?” When Peter nods, the stranger continues, “What he’s experiencing now is a separation of astral and physical forms. He’s been suspended between two existential states. The spell he got hit with causes the split,” 

Tony doesn’t remember any spell, and he certainly doesn’t think that any of that was scientifically valid. But when he tells Peter as much, he doesn’t hear. 

“So how come I can hear him?” 

“Simply put, he latched to you,” 

Tony blinks, “I  _ what _ ?” 

“This spell is where the legend of ghosts with ‘unfinished business’ comes from. When they interact with someone or something with enough emotional significance, their physical form manifests temporarily,” 

Peter swallows, “Um, emotional significance?”

Despite his own embarrassment, Tony sighs, “Ah, come on, Kid. It’s not exactly a secret that I think you’re adorable,” 

If the tips of Peter’s ears hadn’t turned red, he would think he didn’t hear. 

The stranger, oblivious to Peter’s embarrassment, says, “It requires a profound bond to be able to manifest. Some people completely fade once the spell takes affect. The fact that he can speak to you—touch you—is a very good sign,” 

Something twists in Tony’s stomach. He always knew that choosing this kid was the best decision he ever made. 

Rhodey nods, “Okay. Okay, so if you’re right...what do we do?” 

Shrugging, the stranger says, “Nothing. We wait,” 

“For what?” 

“To see if Stark is strong enough to piece himself back together,” 

“And if he can’t?”

“Then he’s—for lack of a better word—dead,” 

“How do I help?” Peter asks, determination clear in his voice. 

Tony feels himself smile softly without choosing to. 

“Try to stay close to him,” The stranger advises, “Aside from that, it’s up to Stark,” 

Peter inhales. He bites the inside of his cheek. Tony cocks his head, a twinge in his chest at the sight of Peter’s worried expression. 

“Hey,” He squeezes his forearm, “Don’t give up on me just yet. After all, I find you emotionally significant,” 

Although Peter doesn’t hear, Tony comforts himself with the knowledge that if he had, he would’ve laughed. 

  
  


Staying close to Peter is an easy task, when he remembers to walk slowly enough that Tony can follow. The stranger—whose name is apparently Strange—suggested that he go about his day as normal, while avoiding cars, trains, or any other mode of accelerated transportation. 

Tony snorts, “Translation: just stay in the compound,” 

Peter does exactly that. For the majority of the day, he stays on his phone. Tony doesn’t mind. Sitting on the couch beside Peter in silence is better than having his atoms “shredded”. 

When he does do something, Peter tries to narrate. Tony watches him explain how to make seven sandwiches with equal amusement each time. 

“If your peanut butter ration is too thick, then your mouth gets all gummy,” He informs his plate, “But if you have too much jelly, then it all slides off the bread,” 

“Why not just scoop it back up? Just like lick the plate?” 

Peter starts, but not as much as before, and laughs, “Because I’m not gross, Mr. Stark. I don’t want to lick my plate. I want to eat a sandwich,” 

Pleased that Peter can hear him, he tries to respond quickly, “What’s gross about licking a plate?” 

“I don’t know, it just is,” His smile is radiant. 

Tony leans on the counter, a hand under his chin. He smiles fondly, “That’s not a reason,” 

Both of them wait for the other to respond. Peter’s smile fades. His expectant expression morphs into disappointment. 

Tony sighs. The tiny luxury of being able to communicate was only available for a moment. 

“Sorry, Kid. I’ll try harder next time,” 

  
  


The anxiety of being invisible, silent, nonexistent, rests on Tony’s mind. He feels physically heavy and weightless at once. He’s fuzzy and mute and drifting. If it weren’t for Peter, he might succumb to the shrieking, just so he wouldn’t have to fight it. 

Peter does his homework, which Tony tries to help with. Peter watches Stargate, which Tony struggles to complain about. Peter eats a third lunch, which Tony fights to tease him for. Occasionally, he’ll hear his voice. The joy he’s met with is enough that Tony wades through the wet sand. He can’t give up quite yet. 

At 6:00—Peter’s infamous nap time—he collapses on the couch beside him. The waves batter his skull. Sighing, Tony leans closer to his companion. Maybe the proximity will soothe the aches. 

Exhaustion brings introspection, something Tony normally scoffs at to avoid. He turns his head to admire the peace in Peter’s expression. His eyes are locked on the TV, but he blinks slowly. The corner of Tony’s mouth twitches. 

“You know, of all the people that I had to latch to, I’m glad it was you, Kid,”

He waits, hoping that Peter heard him, and that he didn’t. The crushing disappointment he feels when he doesn’t respond is enough to make him deflate. He sinks further into the couch. 

“The jelly thing you hear, but not that,” 

Peter, with his eyes almost closed murmurs, “I heard you, Mr. Stark,” 

Tony smiles again. His eyes are wide and shining. 

“Of course you did, Buddy. Get some sleep,” 

When Peter drifts, so does he. 

He wakes up in the couch, still beside Peter. His head has flopped to rest on Tony’s chest. Cautiously, he lifts his arm, trying to place it around Peter’s shoulders. He stirs, disrupted by the movement. 

“Mr. Stark?” 

“Yeah, Pete?” 

He smiles, his eyes barely open, “It’s you,” 

“The one and only,” 

“Mr. Stark?”

“Yeah, Kid?” 

“I’m glad you got stuck with me too,” 

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! Let me know what you thought with comments and/or kudos. 
> 
> My tumblr is @loubuttons. Come hang out :)


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